The Play's the Thing
by lembas7
Summary: The edge of the final frontier meets a galaxy far, far away. And on that line rests the future of two universes. Prequel SW, Original Series crossover.
1. Much Ado

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek: TOS characters and premise are property of Gene Rodenberry. Star Wars characters and premise belong to George Lucas.

**A/N: **Here's to hoping I don't make myself a pariah in both fandoms . . . what can I say? I love 'em both! Enough to eschew the rivalry, and attempt a . . .meld.

**Summary:** The edge of the final frontier meets a galaxy far, far away. And on that line rests the future of two universes.

* * *

THE PLAY'S THE THING

**Part 1: Much Ado**

--_Stardate 1057.9_--

_Kaadith, she said. What is, is._ Rocks scraped fingertips bloody. _So what the hell are you going to do about it?_

'Nothing' wasn't an option.

_But right now, find shelter._ Rains were coming, not that it would do the crops any good. Exactly the opposite, in fact, as water dampened the soil, making it perfect to incubate and nurture the little parasites munching through roots and killing all the things that grew.

He'd seen as much on the news-vids, before communications and power had been cut.

_Before he killed them all._

The boy pushed his way up steep rocks, aiming for the dark hole he'd seen from the height of a nearby tree. It took the larger plants longer to die; that one had looked to be sturdy enough to climb, to try to scout the area. He had no idea where he was. _At least the rain will make it harder for the dogs to track me by scent._

As long as the black spot on the mountainside, half-hidden by boulders, really _was_ a cave – and it wasn't inhabited by Tarsus IV's version of a bear – he might be able to stay there for a day or so. _Maybe longer._ If they weren't looking for him. They might not be.

_What is, is._ It hadn't made much sense the first time Aunt Jo had told it to him. It was a Vulcan saying she'd picked up somewhere. Supposed to be about acceptance, or something. Jim didn't see it that way. It was about determination.

_Aunt Jo is dead. And Uncle Frank, and Sarah, and Luke –_

_Kaadith._ It wouldn't happen to him. He refused to let it.

_Have to do something. Survive._ No food, no fire, wet and cold with nothing but jeans and a sweatshirt against the weather. If humans experienced a drop in core body temperature of three degrees or more, hypothermia set in almost immediately. _Get to the cave. Just a little . . . further . . ._

Sharp pebbles scraped his back as he rolled himself over the ledge. It was tiny – and the boulders looked almost as if they had been placed just so, to cover the mouth of the overhang – for that was all it was. He shivered, looking in. A deep overhang, almost bowl-shaped, hollowed by the wind.

The voice came out of nowhere, harsh with demand. "Who's there?"

* * *

--_Stardate 3857.2_--

"Captain. A coded message from Starfleet has just come in."

"Coded?"

"Priority One, sir." Uhura's face, normally so expressive, was blank.

_Damn. _Priority One . . ."Thank you, Lieutenant." Kirk smiled, leaving the command chair for the turbolift. "I'll take it in my quarters. Relay confirmation that we've received the message. Mr. Spock, you have the con."

Turbolift doors shut on the sight of blue moving toward the center seat. _Priority One. Orders change – and now they've changed again. _Excitement plucked every nerve; he let it run free a moment, run its course, and fade to something manageable.

By the time the lift reached Deck 5, he was calm again, and a little apprehensive. Carpet muffled his footfalls, turning intent stride to leisurely walk. "Privacy Lock," he ordered as the door to his cabin slid shut behind him. "Authorization: Kirk, James T. Level Gold." No medical override, or even the computer tricks of his engineer or first officer, would open that lock. Anything but his voice with a prearranged signal would fuse the doors shut. _So here's to hoping there's no red alert in the next hour._

Because it would take that long at least to decode the message. _Manual decoding._ Kirk held back the sigh, reaching for pen and paper. Just below Ultimate in security, but requiring the memorized code he kept locked behind every mental shield he'd ever been taught. There was more than one reason that the Klingons wanted to get their hands on him, after all – and revenge didn't cover the half of it.

He hadn't done this a lot, but it was still often enough that the code came easily to the forefront of his mind. Minutes passed; fewer than he expected.

The pen slowed its arc, ink drying on the message. _This doesn't make any sense._

Kirk reached for the comm.

"Uhura."

"Lieutenant." Kirk kept his voice carefully blank. "Was there any addendum to the Priority One message? Anything else at all?" _Doubtful. Uhura's the best. _It went without saying that she didn't miss or forget things like that.

"No, sir."

He couldn't answer the question in her voice, screened though it was. "Thank you, Uhura. Kirk out."

But it left him with a puzzle, and no answer. _No one uses Priority One code to send a personal message._ An unsigned personal message. One that he recognized, though it had been twenty years. _Something's wrong here._

"Computer. Deactivate Privacy Lock. Authorization: Kirk, James T. Level Gold – Two – Nine." He folded the paper, unwilling to trust the words to a computer system of any kind, though he had no reason for the suspicion curling up his spine. _Use your feelings . . . _

A voice from the past, that he hadn't thought of since –

The door chimed.

"Come."

"Hey, Jim." Bright blue eyes beaming Southern charm preceded McCoy into his cabin. "I heard we've got a change in orders come through from the Fleet. This mean we can head out from mapping the boondocks to someplace with class?" The doctor slumped comfortably in a chair, the fact they were both on-duty the only thing that kept him from putting his feet on Kirk's desk, the captain was sure.

The ship's grapevine was damn near miraculous for speed and accuracy. He found a smile that was half-genuine for his friend. "Afraid not, Bones."

"Damn. You know, we had leave scheduled that got cancelled when those Orions blasted -"

"The starboard nacelle. I know, Bones." Kirk made for the door; alpha shift was only half-through and he needed to get back to the bridge. Spock was more than capable of handling the duties of command, but the Vulcan would much rather be charting anomalies and working on the three science projects he had running at his console, if Kirk knew his friend at all.

Gentle griping accompanied him into the turbolift in the form of a disgruntled doctor.

Spock rose smoothly from the center seat, and was bent over his glowing console by the time Kirk hit the stairs.

"Course change, Captain?"

_Sharp._ "No, Mr. Sulu." The entire bridge was silent for a moment; Kirk let them digest that. His people were the best, but Priority One was command's eyes only. Spock would need to know the implications of the message; indeed, one eyebrow had already hiked in his direction. But the content . . .

_It's not HQ. They would have signed it, it would have been orders._ Not five neatly ordered lines, sixteen words blasting open a month of his past that he had buried long ago. _Quite literally._

The pain of that time soaked gently into the filaments of his heart -

_Stop._

Stars glinted through the viewscreen. In Iowa, they had been small white specks that he had wanted with the impossible longing of childhood. Here, they could be seen in all the colors they were born to – whites and yellows and deep reds, pale blues and oranges.

Bright fabric in the corner of his eye. "Really, Jim, are you done being mysterious yet?"

He'd forgotten McCoy. _How did I manage that?_ Kirk blinked, focusing sideways. "Excuse me?"

Bones was no idiot; the man heard the warning there. _He just chooses to ignore it. As usual._ "I said," the drawl got impossibly slower, "would y'mind letting me know what the fuss with that message is? What's this Priority One blather?"

"Priority One." The Vulcan's pronouncement was cool from over Jim's right shoulder. "Second-highest security level of Federation messaging. Command eyes-only."

"I didn't ask you," McCoy snapped right back, shifting feet irritably.

"But Mr. Spock's right." Kirk didn't bother reigning in the snap to his voice. "Command only, Bones. For Priority One, that means Captain and First Officer."

"So that pointy-eared nuisance gets to find out what's going on, and I don't?" Fists more used to healing clenched in frustration.

_I won't deal with this today._ "Control yourself, Doctor."

McCoy's face split open in surprise. Usually Kirk had more patience with his demands and attitude, but Jim couldn't spare any worry from that message. Taken aback, the doctor stared a moment. "Sorry, Jim."

_It shouldn't have come the way it did. What's going on?_ "I'll talk to you later, Bones." He smiled, softening words that could have been a reprimand.

"Well, I'm off to sickbay," the doctor tried for an answering smile, but was starting to get a look on his face that Kirk automatically classified as psychoanalytical. _Great._ No doubt Bones was trying to think of ways to weasel the information out of his friend.

Silence descended once more as the turbolift doors swished shut.

Reports from his yeoman, and coffee. A steamy, rich sip that pretended at being the real thing; but he enjoyed it nonetheless. _Engineering. Scotty's wanting a haul-in to Starbase 8 to repair the last bit of damage from the Orion attack. _It would be the closest port available, with their projected position.

_According to Spock._ Kirk trusted the Vulcan's mind and instincts – _logic,_ corrected a voice in his brain that was entirely Spock's – as much as he trusted his own. But the repairs weren't critical and they needed to complete this mapping before they could do more of an in-depth survey. _And we don't need to resupply or rotate the crew out for another month. . . _Scotty wasn't going to be pleased.

_I'll have to make it up to him somehow._

Compartmentalization meant he got through what was left of alpha shift without thinking of the message. Beta shift relief was waiting; as he handed over the con, Kirk glanced toward the Science Station. "Mr. Spock. A word?"

"Captain," the beta-shift communications officer caught his attention. The blonde woman's head had an anxious tilt.

"Yes, Lieutenant Palmer?"

"Priority Ultimate message, sir. Just came in." The young face was shining with a mix of excitement and fear.

At that, every ear on the bridge swiveled their way, even if eyes remained on consoles. "I'll take it in my quarters," Kirk ordered, and let one side of his mouth quirk as dark eyes caught his. "In an hour, Mr. Spock?"

"Of course," was the Vulcan's smooth reply.

Decoding the Ultimate took less time, but the results had him frowning. _Looks like we're in for a course change after all. _

* * *

"Come."

Spock walked through the door to see the Captain sitting at his desk, frowning at a piece of paper. "Captain? It has been one hour since you requested to see me."

"It's Jim, Spock, we're off-duty." But the human's smile for him was more worried than the message's security level could account for.

"Jim. Is something troubling you?" He would not have dared to ask that question months ago, but the familiarity between them had deepened to a level Spock had not expected. If he closed his mind to the _c'thia_ of it, it could catch him by surprise at times. Yet he was far from true acceptance.

"Yes," sighed the figure, slumped before the paper-strewn desk. "Read this."

The handwriting was strongly masculine and smooth; Jim had decoded the Priority Ultimate message some time ago, given the ink was quite dry. _Approximately forty-one point nine minutes._

But the content was intriguing.

_**To: Capt. JT Kirk, USS Enterprise**_

_**From: Starfleet HQ – Div. 23B**_

_**Regarding: Pirated signals broadcasting Priority One message traced to Sector 957. Enterprise ordered to investigate immediately, following Regulations 24.8 and 173.5. **_

"What do you think?" The human was rubbing at a headache lodged behind hazel eyes.

"Fascinating," Spock replied immediately. "All ships in the fleet received the original message?"

"If you read between the lines." One finger tapped a folded piece of paper. "It's the Regulations that concern me."

"Indeed." _We are now mandated to keep constant record of everything that occurs shipboard and transmit every two hours an updated version of ship's affairs and status._ "It appears Starfleet is taking this breach of security very seriously."

"Authorized to immediately terminate a possible threat? I'd say so." Jim tossed the words back with a smile Spock had come to associate with the term 'wry'. He was beginning to become accustomed to myriad human emotions and expressions. Spock was fortunate he had prior experience with his human mother, or it was doubtful that he would ever truly comprehend many of the seemingly pointless actions of the crew around him.

"What was the content of the Priority One message?" Technically, Spock was not usually informed of the content of the messages, other than the implications for the ship in terms of course changes and mission status. _Need-to-know._

"I suppose it won't hurt to show you," Jim shrugged.

Spock took the folded paper, smoothing it out, and felt one eyebrow rise as he read. "Fascinating."

"What do you make of it?"

Spock's head came up. _For a human, he is exceptionally good at screening his emotions._ Jim's voice was carefully blank, normally expressive features bland. It pricked against Spock's knowledge of the man. "I am reminded of many of the mediations undergone by students of _c'thia_ upon Vulcan," was his careful reply. "Children are taught using such mantras, commonly spoken, and certain words are required for specific mind disciplines undertaken by healers and adult Vulcans." _The mind-meld._

The human did not meet his gaze. _Reluctance to make eye contact. Dampening of emotions in a being more used to expressing them. Breaths coming at a rate of twenty-five per minute, heartbeat at eighty beats per minute – above human norms._ _Probability effects of extreme emotion, 39.8 percent. Probability effects of undisclosed knowledge pertaining to message, 55.7 percent. Probability unknown factor, 4.5 percent._ "Jim. You are in distress."

A distracted nod, only.

"Captain," Spock tried instead. "Do you have knowledge pertaining to the meaning of this message?"

Hazel eyes stared sightlessly into the future, blinked, and focused in on him with unnerving intensity. "Just intuition, Spock. I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

McCoy waited for two hours past the end of alpha shift before deciding that if he wanted to know, he was going to have to track the Captain down and pry it out of the man himself. _More stubborn than a left-footed mule._

Deck 5 refused to divulge any answers. _Not on the Bridge. _Though apparently he'd been there to change course not half an hour before. _Not in Sickbay, or his cabin. No luck on the Observation Deck, or the Rec Room. Where did you get yourself off to, Jim?_

Whirling back to the turbolift, McCoy slammed the call button. _One more place, and then I'm going to send out a shipwide page. And _then_ we'll see who_ –

_Swish._

The two young ensigns and redshirt standing in the turbolift took one look at the wrath Bones knew was etched into his face, and carefully moved aside.

One short, tense ride later he was striding toward the _Enterprise_'s gym. No one working the weights, but . . .

_And ten gets you twenty._

The figure cutting through water was familiar in its focused intensity. _I might have known. _"Captain Kirk!"

Jim stopped on reaching the pool wall, blinking water from hazel eyes. "Bones."

"What's going on? I thought you said we didn't have a course change lined up in front of us, and then I go to the Bridge to find out that we're now pinpointed straight toward the middle of nowhere -"

"Not exactly the _middle_ of nowhere." Water crested, splashing over his boots as the Captain hauled himself from the pool. "More off to the side."

"I'm a doctor, not a navigator," McCoy snapped. Shook off his boots and tossed a towel at the dripping Captain. "What in blazes is going on?"

"Orders, Bones."

"What orders? That Ultimate Priority nonsense?" He caught Jim rolling his eyes, and huffed. "Well?"

"Basically." Cotton rubbed vigorously through hair darkened with water. "Look, Bones, there's a briefing for alpha-shift bridge crew scheduled for 0830 tomorrow morning. Can't you wait?"

"At last!" Two hands beseeched the ceiling as he followed Kirk into the small locker room. "The promise of answers. I mean, come on, Jim."

He knew he'd pushed too far when the Captain's face went blank. Half-dressed, the freezing stare was still enough to stop a Klingon in his tracks. "Doctor, I appreciate that waiting is difficult for you." _Ouch. _"But," Kirk continued, face carved from stone, "I have orders. And I abide by those orders, for the safety of my ship and everyone on it, including you."

_Not all the time. _Kirk was notorious for breaking the rules as it suited him . . . unless . . . Coldness swam through his gut. _Something's wrong, really wrong. _"Jim – these orders – how serious is this?"

For a moment, he thought that there would be no answer, that he would have to wait twelve hours with this new apprehension multiplying within him.

Then Jim's face lost the steely aloofness of command, softening into a quirk of lips. "Bones, calm down." Shrugging into a shirt, the Captain paused for a moment, fingers gripping his shoulder reassuringly. "This isn't as bad as all that. It's our standard mission, actually, explore and observe. Headquarters is just telling us precisely where, for the first time."

_Really, Jim-boy? Then why the anxiety? Why are you hiding behind the strictness of command? _McCoy opened his mouth –

"Come on." Metal clanged as the locker door bounced shut. "Let's get dinner; I'm hungry."

_Fine._ McCoy nodded, following the Captain toward the turbolift. _You can run, but you can't hide._

* * *

Humming quietly, she puzzled at the middle two measures of the fifth line. _It might be easier if I had the music with me._ Well, she was on-duty now, and there would be plenty of time later to practice the new Vulcan lullaby Mr. Spock had shared with her. _Still –_

"Morning, Nyota."

Glancing up, she smiled as Sulu breezed in. "Got your coffee for the morning, Hikaru?"

He raised his cup to her, slipping into a chair. "And you are the first here, as usual."

Briefing room doors opened on whatever she was going to respond to that, and the doctor bounded in. "Dr. McCoy."

"Morning, Uhura, Sulu. What, isn't the Captain here yet?"

Hikaru rolled his eyes.

Nyota couldn't help but agree. _He's been chomping at the bit since the Priority One. It's a wonder he didn't try to pry it out of the Captain yesterday._ Her own coffee had a sickly-sweet aftertaste from the replicators. _Ugh. Now I remember why I don't drink this._

Pavel stumbled in a moment after metal made contact with the table, bleary-eyed and yawning. Slumping down beside her, the tired Russian's eyes lit upon her cup. "Are you going to drink that?" His words were blurred more with sleep than the familiar accent, but Nyota hadn't made a living off being a communications officer for nothing.

Chekov had barely wrapped his fingers around the cup before Montgomery Scott arrived, followed closely by the Captain and Mr. Spock. _Precisely punctual, as ever._

"Lady and gentlemen." At the head of the room, the Captain surveyed the table. "Thank you for being here. As you know, yesterday we received a Priority One message, followed by Priority Ultimate." She'd been trying to read the content of the looks exchanged between the Captain and First Officer for weeks now, and Nyota still couldn't decipher all the layers of meaning.

"It appears," the Vulcan continued, "that the Priority One signal was pirated to send a message that reached all ships in the Fleet."

Nyota picked up her jaw. _Oh, no._ "But that's Starfleet's second-highest security code!"

"Which is precisely why we've been ordered to do a bit of directed exploration." The smile didn't reach hazel eyes. Kirk held out a piece of paper, folded, to her. "Uhura, this is the decoded message. I'd like you to analyze it. If there's a code within the message itself, I want to know. I'd also like you to collaborate with the anthropologists in the Science Department. See if you can't pinpoint any cultural references from the content."

"Of course."

She glanced over at Spock; the Vulcan's head tilted, conveying his own interest. Body language was the most important aspect of deciphering the unspoken words of the Vulcan people.

"Sulu."

"Captain?" Hikaru's face was bright, his whole body almost twanging. Nyota wrestled back her amusement. _He's excited._

"We're headed now into Sector 957. I want you to be closely coordinated with the Science Department, as well as Communications. As of right now, all we have is Starfleet's backtracking to pinpoint the origin of the signal. We're going to need more detailed information and a clearer trail to follow if there _is _anything out there."

_This is what we signed on for. First contact, exploration._ Hot adrenaline thrilled her own veins, even though Nyota knew nothing was going to happen for awhile. They weren't anywhere near the source of the signal. _Still, it never hurts to be aware._ Pavel was almost bouncing with energy.

"And start refreshing your evasives." Knuckles paled where the navigator gripped his coffee mug. The seriousness of the situation brought every being in the room to focused intensity. "Chekov."

"Sir?" _Looks like the coffee did the trick._ The helmsman's eagerness brought a bright smile to the Captain's whole face. Nyota couldn't help her own grin.

"We'll be at Sector 957 in roughly -"

"Four point two three hours," Spock filled in.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. In three hours, I want you to recalibrate the sensors at your station. Increase sensitivity as high as you deem reasonable – if anything even slightly unusual is out there, I want to know. And be prepared to assist Mr. Spock at the Science Station."

"Yes, sir." The ensign's attention wavered back to her now; Nyota rested folded hands on the Priority One message. _Later, Pavel._ They were still in the middle of the briefing.

"Scotty."

"Aye, Cap'n."

Kirk was standing quietly; the very stillness of his body gave away how much he would rather be pacing the deck. "What's the state of the engines?"

Spock's face was immobile. _If I didn't know better, I'd think he wasn't breathing. What's going on here?_

"She's mostly up an' repaired from the Orions," the Scotsman's brogue thickened in his anger. _Poor Montgomery – his silver lady took a beating and he's still tetchy about it._ Some time in the Rec Room, over a game of cards, might be enough for her engineering friend to vent his frustrations. "I'm concerned tha' we'll no' have enough supplies for emergency repairs should we run inta summat unpleasant. For now she'll hold together well enough, though I can't promise more than Warp Six."

"Keep patching her up." Scotty didn't look pleased, but the Captain wasn't finished yet. "I want Warp Ten ready if we need it."

Nyota had to work to keep her eyes from widening. _Poor Montgomery._

"Warp Ten!"

"I doubt we'll have to push her so hard, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared for every eventuality, Scotty."

"Aye, Cap'n." _But he doesn't have to be happy about it._ Anything that threatened his bairns roused Montgomery's Scottish anger, devoted to the _Enterprise_ and his laddies.

"Are there any other concerns?" The Captain opened the floor up to comments, but she had nothing to say. Pavel seemed to have relapsed into semi-sleep from the burst of energy he'd used before, and Hikaru was mentally planning evasives, from the far-off gleam in dark eyes. _Scotty doesn't look too happy, but we all expected that._ Mr. Spock seemed intent as ever, but no one opened their mouth.

Except McCoy. "What are you expecting to find out there, Jim?"

"At this point, any answer could be nothing but conjecture, Doctor." _Not even the smallest of smiles. Why is Spock running interference?_

"Speculate," Leonard's lips pursed. _Reigning in his irritation._

"Sentient beings. But what sort, I wouldn't dare to guess." Fingers rubbed around closed lips; Kirk's gaze was distant. A blink brought him back to them, somewhat. "Anything else?"

This time, the silence lasted.

"Well." The smile on the Captain's face was genuine. "I noted in the reports that all Departments are working at top efficiency. Good job, everyone."

Pleased expressions round the table; even Mr. Spock's solemnity softened for a moment.

"Dismissed."

* * *

"Anything, Mr. Spock?"

The sensors were straining. _Their capabilities are limited. Perhaps if I were to modify –_ "No, sir."

Every human on the bridge with one exception slumped; Vulcan ears caught soft noises of disappointment.

The Captain's tone was even, unreadable. "Very well."

_It is not._ Speed had been reduced to impulse power not long after crossing into Sector 957. _Despite scanner capability, increased sensitivity requires decreased speed in order for the computers to have time to assimilate an increased influx data. _

They had been traveling slowly for the past two point nine seven hours, and had found nothing. The last anomaly had been promising, but proved to be nothing more than a variation in the flux of power between the computers and scanners.

The scanner readout caught his attention once more. _Fascinating._ The scientific value of the data the _Enterprise_ was collating was immeasurable. One part of Spock's mind was calculating the time required for a thorough examination of the information, but it was illogical to think such time could be devoted to the study before their mission was accomplished.

Ensign Chekov was monitoring the long-range scanners, while Spock dealt with the greater volume and detail of data brought in by the short-range scanners.

"Captain."

Again, most of the humans on the bridge sat up straighter, interest rekindled in what had already become a monotonous search.

The one that didn't nevertheless turned in the command chair. "Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"Recommend we increase speed to Warp 1."

Hazel eyes encouraged, the mind behind moving in leaps and bounds. _Intuition. Most illogical, yet unerringly accurate._ "Reasons?"

"It is logical, for the moment, to assume that the entity which pirated the Priority One signal is capable of a certain minimum level of technology. We are proceeding to the source as determined by multiple-axis-triangulation." Spock steepled his fingers under his chin. "At the moment many of the variations registered by the sensors are minor anomalies and variation in vacuum that are too small to constitute a being, physical or non-corporeal, with access to the necessary devices to hack into Starfleet Security."

A trace of bright smile. "Sensor ghosts?"

Spock raised a brow. _Colloquially expressed, yet essentially correct. _"Affirmative."

"Mr. Sulu, increase speed to Warp 1. Mr. Spock, Mr. Chekov, adjust the sensors accordingly."

Spock noted the dilation of capillaries in Pavel Chekov's face, staining formerly pale skin pink with an increased flow of blood. _Probable cause: physiological response to psychological discomfort resulting from emotion._ Illogical.

"ETA to source of the pirated signal, Mr. Sulu?"

"New ETA eight standard days, nineteen hours and eleven minutes."

They were still moving slowly, but this was a more reasonable estimate than the first, which had calculated over a month to reach the source.

"Better," Kirk nodded. "After all, there's no guarantee that the source won't have moved since the original message was relayed."

Spock had double-checked the original triangulation, refining it to within three parsecs and reducing the calculating error to point one four percent. As they had no clues on the source of the signal, if it was capable of motion of any significant degree, probability was in favor of it having disappeared by the time they reached signal source. _Four-hundred and sixty-five to one._

Statistics, however, were nothing but what his Captain would call speculation. _Conjecture._ Essential to the scientific process, but unverified.

Bent over his console once more, Spock continued to scan the sensors.

* * *

_Deep breaths._ Anything to stifle the yawn working its way out. _Alpha shift is almost over. Just stay steady at the helm; we haven't seen anything yet, and we're not likely to for another week, but that's no excuse for inattention._

Sulu couldn't help it; he yawned.

Today had been very much like yesterday, but without a good deal of the fire and enthusiasm the bridge crew had felt after that briefing. _Starfleet's second-highest security code, stolen!_

He hadn't seen the Priority One message. Neither had Pavel, for all he'd been after Nyota about it. The Communications Officer had held her silence, and so far, the Captain and Spock were the only other ones who knew what it said.

_My money's on the Romulans. Maybe the Klingons, but probably the Romulans._ No one knew much about that enemy, but their intelligence was incredible. No one knew what espionage techniques they used, but rumors flew from ship to ship after every encounter. Sulu'd had fifteen different evasive strategies prepped yesterday, and was working on more. _No telling what's out there._

_Why use the Priority One unless you wanted to attract attention?_

_Trap._

His instincts were screaming it, and the jittery energy that had taken hold after he'd had time to think on it was only just abating. Pointed at the viewscreen, Sulu kept his attention fixed to his console.

But if the Captain harbored the same doubts, the man was hiding it very well. _Not that you can usually tell what he's thinking._ Sulu had long since stopped trying; Kirk's mind worked differently than his on every level.

Which was why he'd been attached to the Enterprise so long. _To learn how to get people to follow me like that, to lead like that. . . _It was the greatest opportunity of his career, and only a fool would give it up.

"Mr. Sulu," Kirk's hand on the back of his chair. "You have evasives worked up?"

"Sixteen, sir."

So many were needed simply to cover a few of the various situations they had been faced with so far during the five-year mission. _Every battle's a new one. But some are similar, and that's where having so many different evasives on the tip of the brain comes in handy._

Praise warmed the helmsman. "Very good, Mr. Sulu." And he knew it would go into his record. Kirk was like that.

"Thank you, sir."

Turbolift doors split the silence, expelling the doctor onto the bridge. "Anything?"

"Mr. Spock?"

"Nothing, Captain."

"You see, Bones? You're better off waiting in Sickbay. If anything happens up here, trust me, you'll know."

"Blast it, Jim, I usually find out after we've fired or been fired on that something's going on!"

"Like I said, Doctor. You'll know."

Sulu kept his eyes forward, seeing a grin creep over Pavel's face at his station. Dr. McCoy fumed a moment, pacing behind them. _Left, right, left again._ Past Engineering, and then back to Communications and Science.

The Captain let him mutter a short while, soft words drifting from and between the different stations, but as ever, the sensors were empty of anything out of the ordinary.

"What's our projected ETA, Mr. Sulu?"

The clock had counted down since the last time Kirk had asked, but not by enough in his opinion. "ETA six days, twenty-two hours and forty-nine minutes, sir."

"There. Six more days of this, Bones. When we do get there, the odds that the . . . source of the signal may have moved are high. The probability that it will have moved to intercept us before we reach it is -"

"Seven-hundred ninety-five to one." Mr. Spock, as ever confident in his calculations. _He's rarely wrong._ The Vulcan's ability to calculate such numbers was amazing.

"Low," Sulu could hear the small smile in Kirk's voice.

Another yawn was trying to make itself felt. _Five minutes until beta shift relief._ Not that anyone ever really went off-duty on the _Enterprise_. Life in space didn't allow for such luxury. _But at least we have time to rest. Relax._ He'd been staring at his panel so hard that his eyes were starting to hurt.

"- later, Jim." Turblolift doors _swish_ed closed, taking McCoy with them.

_I really must be tired if I missed the Doctor saying something._

"Huh?" Fingers gripped his shoulder; Sulu blinked up. "Riley?"

"You're relieved, Sulu." Quicksilver Irish grin, reminiscent of the time Riley'd sung 'Kathleen' over the entire ship's communications system. _Psi 2000._ Well, before the Doctor had sedated him, Sulu's own performance under the influence of the disease had been just as embarrassing.

Turning over the helm, he managed to squeeze into the turbolift with Chekov and Uhura. The Captain and Spock were speaking quietly out of the way of the beta shift, but he couldn't make anything out as he slipped by.

Another yawn, more voluptuous than the first, stole sight and breath from him for a moment. _Time to sleep._

Doing nothing, they might be, but all this waiting for something to happen was exhausting. _I almost wish someone would attack us, and get it over with._

Then again, maybe not.

* * *

She was singing.

_Ahhh, beautiful._ Montgomery Scott whistled his pleasure.

Both transformers were once again smoothly encased in cylindrical steel; the grill blocking the power conduits had been repaired. Engineering had taken a minor hit in the action against the Orions; enough to knock things out of shape.

_Loveliest tune in space._ Nyota's voice was beautiful, but _Enterprise_'s song had fingers woven into his heartstrings.

Healthy engines throbbed, giving life to the very air.

_Now if we can only keep her that way._

"Orions, Klingons, Romulans . . ." Scotty couldn't help the grumble. _Ah, silver lady, ye've beaten' all o' them. _Not without a price.

It was the matter-antimatter chamber that had required the most delicate handling and repairs. _She's a classy lady, an' no mistake. Deserves the best, she does._ But three days of solid work meant she would give them Warp Ten, if they asked.

_She'll keep us alive._

And the Captain had been pleased by his report. The two of them, Kirk and _Enterprise_, kept them all alive through every scrape the edges of space could carve into them. _An' we've bled. But most of us are still breathin'. _

One last rub with soft cloth and shiny metal showed Scotty his reflection, smiling back from the panel's surface. Deep into gamma shift, he'd been working. _Trouble if the Captain finds out, but he's visiting Medical on tonight's shipwalk._ Didn't mean he couldn't pull a surprise visit on Engineering, but he'd been by just when the repairs started; and he'd be by tomorrow night.

Something the Captain did regular; walking the _Enterprise_ deep into his own sleep cycle, meeting all of his crew, not just alpha shift. _An' the laddies appreciate it right enough._ Mark of a good commander, it was. _Our lives are all in one another's hands, an' we don' even know everyone shipside._

Four hundred and thirty people was one-forty or so per shift; not so many, really. The soft cloth joined a pile of others in a locker tucked under the control panel. Scotty leant back in his chair, surveying the two floors comprising Engineering. _My lady, singing strong again._

No matter what they might come up against, _Enterprise_ was ready.

* * *

"A week," McCoy muttered. Green leaves lumped on circular glass did not respond. Fork in hand, the doctor poked at his salad. "A _week_ we've been at this, and we haven't found _anything._"

"The nature of life on a starship, Doctor." Jim was barely looking at the chessboard. _He's not distracted on the bridge, but every off-duty moment . . . _

A black brow hiked. "Check in four, Jim." Spock's voice supremely confident, as always.

_Wonder what's eating Jim._ Whatever it was, dollars to donuts it was related to their new mission. _I'll go one better. It's related to that Priority One nonsense the whole ship's caught up in._ Even the Priority Ultimate wasn't as troubling as the first message they'd received; McCoy had heard a dozen different theories over what it was, and that was just at this morning's meal.

Leonard had been watching Spock try to draw the Captain out for the week they'd been searching, and the First Officer's persistence had been met with gentle evasions and deferrals. _He's not trying to put us off. Maybe he knows that would just make us try harder to find out what's wrong._

What was wrong was that Spock's extensive and careful information searches had turned up nothing – nothing in relation to the message, or to whatever could have been causing Jim's distraction.

Another seemingly careless move; a bishop, this time, jumped down two levels.

The Vulcan frowned, reaching for a rook.

"Aren't you going to eat that, Doctor?"

Leonard decided to ignore the Captain's tiny smirk. _At least he's smiling. Better than that thoughtful distance he's held all week. _Every psychologist's instinct in him – a rare few, but they were there – was twitching. "I still think something should have happened by now."

Pieces were exchanged on the board, Spock emerging with a telltale air of impending victory. And, typically, a question. "Why?"

"Whaddaya mean, why?" McCoy gave up on the salad in favor of glaring at Spock. The Vulcan was unperturbed. "The whole crew's been on tenterhooks for what feels like ages. Time is relative, and all that." _Which is why we mess with Stardates in the first place._

"Perhaps it is only your perception which is relative."

"Vulcan time-sense," he grunted. Blue eyes glared at the ceiling for a moment, and Leonard shook his head. _Typical._

A new problem rose before Spock could make any retort to that. "Check."

McCoy chortled, taking a good look at the pieces. Then the laughter died. _Queen threatening check. But vulnerable to being taken by the castle. _There, his ability to play chess wavered and fizzed out, but if even _he_ could see that something was fishy. . . .

There was nothing to stop Spock from capturing the queen, which he did, and looked faintly puzzled about it as well. Three moves later, the play stopped and went no further.

Intrigued despite himself, the Doctor leant forward. "Well? Who's winning?"

"No one," Spock said slowly. One thin finger rubbed the lowest level of the board. "We are at an impasse."

"A draw," Leonard drawled, slathering disbelief thickly over each syllable. Took in the arrangement of pawns, lingering castles, rooks, and patterns of defense in three dimensions. _How many times has that happened?_

"You sacrificed the queen." Spock was frowning at Jim. "Why? There was no reason to do so. Your line of defense was solid, though I had the advantage."

_I'll take his word for it._ What Leonard knew about chess might fill a urine sample jar, on a good day. _As in, it feels like a lot, but isn't really so much._

"Highly illogical." And there it was, faintly shining in dark eyes. _Spock's worried. Or 'concerned', as he would put it._

"Only if your objective is to win." Jim stood, stretching a little, and didn't meet McCoy's or Spock's eyes, shifting toward the door. "Let's get to the Bridge."

Uhura's dulcet tones filtered over the com. _"Captain Kirk to Bridge." _

"Shall we?"

Jim was practically out the door; McCoy blinked. _Good timing._ "Any luck?" he whispered to Spock as the doors slipped open for them.

"None."

"Me either." McCoy's hands fisted. _Well. As soon as this mess is settled, Jim's going to spill about what it is that has him so off-kilter._ Like it or not, the entire ship revolved around Kirk; he carried the responsibility of their lives on straight shoulders. Whatever this was hadn't affected the Captain's command performance yet, but it was a worry. "I wish I knew what was going on!"

The Vulcan raised a brow, but rounding the corridor all conversation was effectively silenced as they saw Jim waiting for the turbolift. _Right, then. Let's find out what's up._

_

* * *

_

Святейший Бог!

_What is that?_

He hadn't been in space as long as the others on the Alpha Shift Bridge Crew, Pavel was painfully aware of that. _But this looks like no Federation ship I've ever even heard of!_ The Orions, Klingons and Romulans were using different technology; he'd come from the Academy's most up-to-date courses more recently than anyone else. _But even so . . . _

It didn't look like any of _those_ vessels, either. _At least it's not a Klingon Bird of Prey._ Sulu'd lost some money on that bet.

Sleek lines, almost as if it could cut through air and water as easily as vacuum. Starlight glinted silvery off the hull, reflecting the _Enterprise_'s own exterior lights back through the viewscreen. _She's pretty._

Nothing was a match for the beauty of the _Enterprise_. But she was a sweet girl.

"One thousand kilometers, Captain."

_And small!_

"Full stop, Mr. Sulu."

At Pavel's side, Hikaru's hands flitted across the console. "Full stop."

Kirk's voice sounded, his calm like a dash of cold water against the jittery excitement in Chekov's gut. "Uhura, scan all frequencies. Mr. Spock, analysis?"

"Vessel, captain, approximately fifty meters across. Metal alloy unknown to sensors, though trace elements match iron, zinc, aluminum, and gold. Life-sign readings indicate nine beings, humanoid. Atmosphere and gravity compatible with _Enterprise_ and Earth norms."

_Humanoid! Like us! _Pavel shivered with excitement. _First contact!_ Why he'd signed on, jumped at the chance for gamma shift, _anything,_ on the five-year mission; and found himself bumped up to alpha-shift navigator.

"Captain. . ." Uhura, uncertainty coloring her tone. _Nyota's never uncertain._ He couldn't rip his eyes from the viewscreen, admiring the _симпатичная девушка_, even so.

"Any signals, Lieutenant?"

"I'm getting a faint reading on one of the main frequencies. But I believe it's still transmitting using the Priority One code."

Nyota's brown eyes were wide with surprise. _Wait – but I thought the signal was only hijacked once! And doesn't Nyota – __идиот! Only the Captain is given the key to decode the Priority One and Ultimate messages!_ It wasn't until he met Kirk's level stare that Chekov realized he'd jerked all the way around and was ignoring his console to gape.

"Steady, Mr. Chekov."

"Yes, sir." Heat crawled up his cheeks and made itself at home. _Fool! _Pavel concentrated furiously on the buttons and viewscreen, but couldn't help trying to hear every word passing between the Captain and Nyota.

"Transmit Linguacode."

"Yes, sir. Transmitting Linguacode now."

_But if they're transmitting in the Priority One code, won't the Linguacode decode it?_

Apparently not.

"Sir, receiving a response!"

Pavel shot a grin at Sulu, and his friend returned it. _Here we go!_

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **Translations (Russian to English)

_Святейший Бог!_Holy God!

_симпатичная девушка_ – lovely girl

_идиот_ - idiot


	2. StarCrossed

****

Part 2: Star-Crossed

--_One Standard Week Ago_--

"We should abort, sir! Our deflector shields can't withstand much more of this!"

_BOOM!_

In the corner of his eye, a brown-and-tan blur slid across the cockpit to fetch up against the copilot's seat. _:Padawan?:_

_:I'm fine, Master.:_

Qui-Gon braced himself. "Stay on course." Lights beeped and flashed on the control panel in front of him. "Do you have a cloaking device?"

"This is not a warship!" Panaka snapped as another explosion caused warning panels to scream in alarm. "We have no weapons, Ambassador! We're a nonviolent people, which is why the Trade Federation was brave enough to attack us in the first place!"

_:Stars.:_

A sudden lurch filtered the thought into the Force-bond thrumming between Qui-Gon and his apprentice. _:Obi-Wan?:_

But the young Jedi was distracted from whatever had sparked the curse. _:Master – we've been hit! The power . . .: _

Light flickered uncertainly, the shrill screech of an alarm sounding through the Nubian's cockpit as electric current wavered.

"No weapons," Qui-Gon breathed. Blue eyes found Obi-Wan standing steady at his side, thoughts moving as quickly as his own behind mental shields. _We can't take another hit._ Even as the thought came, the ship shuddered around them. Qui-Gon reached for the pilot's attention, fingers squeezing Ric Olié's shoulder. "The Trade Federation uses pulser tracking for its weapons. Spin the ship. It'll make it difficult for them to get a reading on us."

Levers were flipped; in mere seconds, the Nubian entered a slow twisting dive, the battleship ahead encompassing the viewport before sliding out of focus. They were gathering speed, the pilot's knuckles white on the controls as gunports, towers and stabilizers flashed by.

"Something's wrong. Shields are down!" Olié wrestled the controls, fingers flying from buttons to levers and back. The next words escaped in a shout. "Sending out the repair crew!"

Sharp blue eyes shot to the viewscreen; Qui-Gon felt the Force whisper as the repair crew shot from an airlock, motoring toward the damage with jerky speed.

_:Master. Fighters.:_ Obi-Wan was calm, just a hint of tension underlying the words coloring their bond. _:It seems the Trade Federation has caught on.:_ They'd been hugging the battleship's shadow, keeping it from effectively employing its weapons without incurring damage to itself.

Robotic attack ships danced through star-speckled space around them as their pilot worked the controls. For all his skill, Olié was hampered by the need to keep the astromech droids intact and connected to the ship. _Too quick a movement, and magnetic grapplers or not, they'll go flying._

Obi-Wan caught the wayward thought, grim pragmatism seeping between them. _:Then we really will be helpless.:_

Gun slots opened on the underside of the attack ships tearing along the length of the battleship, racing toward the lone Nubian cruiser. Panaka cursed lowly as two astromech droids were neatly blown free of their hull. Slender grapple-arms from the remaining two dug deeply into the open compartment.

_Apparently they don't need the Queen alive as much as they need to stop her contacting the Senate. _They could do nothing but wait. _Trust in the Force._ Still, the need to take action clenched his fists, echoing strongly back from his apprentice. Both Jedi remained still, focused on the viewport and two droids with nine lives resting on their ability to repair the wiring sparking into space.

_Ba-boom!_

Shattered metal and fire were shed as the Nubian slipped through vacuum.

One droid, small and blue, left.

_:Come on, come on . . .: _

The thought slipped through Obi-Wan's shields; Qui-Gon sent a small pulse of reassurance that was accepted and returned before the younger Jedi tightened his mental barriers to their usual strength.

White light flared into existence on the control panel. Olié cried out triumphantly. "The shields are up! The little droid did it!" Relief flooded the Force from the four beings in the cockpit as thrusters roared.

Well away from both Naboo and the Trade Federation, the damage assessment came. "It's not good."

"What's the problem?" Obi-Wan slipped into the copilot's seat, nimble fingers familiarizing themselves with the controls.

Qui-Gon watched Panaka carefully; dark skin had paled as the man looked over complaining panels. Quite a few lights were blinking in alarm, signaling damage warnings.

"It's the hyperdrive," Olié pointed to a fluttering gauge. "It's been hit, but it's not leaking. I've only ever heard of this happening. A bolt must have hit the wiring leading to it, but it didn't fry the circuits. It got channeled into the drive; it's _charging_ the power cells."

"And that means?" Captain Panaka locked both hands behind his back, rigidly staring out the viewscreen.

"When we discharge it, it's going to use that energy." The pilot leant back in his chair, one hand a frustrated fist against its arm. "It's how the hyperdrive normally works, charging its cells in the moments before the jump. But there's a regulator protecting against energy surges until the drive is engaged. That's been blown out."

"We won't be able to stop," Qui-Gon realized.

"We'll be locked into hyperspace until the energy runs down. The longer we wait to jump, the worse it will be. The power will build up."

"So we could overshoot our destination." Uniformed shoulders lifted in a precise shrug. Panaka blinked. "By how much?"

"However much energy was absorbed from the blast," Olié's voice was tight. "And how it converts to distance in hyperspace."

"You don't know."

"No," the man snapped. Took a moment to regain his temper. "No one has any way of knowing; the drive might even burn out before we reach our destination, and we'll undershoot. Best we can do is point ourselves toward known space and give it a shot. Fifty-fifty odds."

_:And if there isn't enough energy to get us as far as we plan on going, we'll be adrift.:_

Over years of negotiation, Obi-Wan had learned well that some things were better left unsaid. Qui-Gon reached for the Force, listen-feeling to its gentle currents._ :We have plenty of rations, Padawan. If we lose power closer to the Core, we'll have a better chance of getting picked up on a distress signal.:_

_:Picked up by the Trade Federation, yes. And then we'll truly be in trouble.: _

Qui-Gon shifted his gaze to the starry viewport. "Do you think we'll have enough power to jump to Coruscant?"

"I have no way of knowing," Olié said bluntly. Fingers drummed restlessly at the edge of the control panel. "But most likely, wherever we end up, the hyperdrive will be shorted. Too much energy."

But the faster they made the decision, the better their chances would be for a short-distance jump . . .

_Reach for the Force. Feel it. _"Then we'll have to land somewhere, make repairs to the ship. What's out there?"

Reddish-gold hair bent over the starchart; Qui-Gon leant over his padawan's head to see around both Obi-Wan and the pilot.

"Here, Master." Sea-change eyes picked out the only choice apparent to them. "Tatooine. Small, poor, out of the way. It attracts little attention. The Trade Federation has no presence there."

"How can you be sure?" Panaka couldn't see the star-chart from behind them; the Queen's head of security could not conceal his agitation.

"Because it's controlled by the Hutts."

Alarm started in brown eyes. "The Hutts?"

"It's risky," his padawan agreed, attempting to soothe the security captain's tension. "But there's no reasonable alternative."

Panaka was not convinced. "You can't take her Royal Highness there! The Hutts are gangsters and slavers! If they discovered who she was -"

"It would be no different than if we landed on a planet in a system controlled by the Trade Federation," Qui-Gon interrupted. The Force was nudging him gently; this was the right decision. _I can feel it. But why?_ "Except the Hutts aren't looking for the Queen, which gives us an advantage."

"It's a Rim world," Panaka hissed. "If we overshoot, we'll be in uncharted space, past the Outer Rim, with no hyperdrive. We're best served by heading toward Coruscant directly. Even if we don't make it, we'll be better off than if we end up adrift beyond the Rim."

_:He has a point, Master.:_

"We might not even make it that far," Qui-Gon pointed out. "It's equal odds either way."

_:And Jedi have a record for tilting the odds in their favor, is that not so, Master?:_

He fought back a smile. _:Listen to the Force, my cheeky padawan.: _

Panaka shook his head, opening his mouth as if to say something. Frustration seeped into the cockpit as the dark-skinned man turned away.

Qui-Gon reached, tapping the silent pilot on one shoulder. "Set course for Tatooine."

_

* * *

_

Tiny room. Me not stayen here anymore, nosa way!

JarJarcracked open the droid storage-bay door. _Da transport not spinnen anymore. Da Naboo gone. Mesa wonder. . . _

The Naboo hadn't said anything, after coming to take the little blue driod away. _De Jedi said stay, said mesa needs keepen outta trouble._ But the alarms were off, and all was peaceful. Why should he have to be stuck in here a minute more?

Billed face followed by eyestalks peered into the corridor. If the Jedi had gone _that_ way to the cockpit, then he wanted to go . . . _this_ way. Shiny metal gleamed on all sides.

A Naboo passed.

JarJar waited, hands behind his back and swiveling on the heels of his large feet. _Any minute, dey gonna tell mesa to go back –_

Not a word, and the Naboo was gone.

_Dey not mind if mesa looksee, den._ One webbed finger slid along smooth steel. JarJar ambled through the corridor, blinking in the bright light. Something shifted under his touch; a metal panel fell from the wall. _Ouchie!_

Hopping, JarJar clutched the abused foot. _Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie!_ The thin metal plate slipped as his toes landed on it, sending the Gungan flying against the opposite side of the corridor. Panting, he stared at the panel. _Whatsa dis?_

It had been covering a mess of wires that now spilled out of the wall at human eye-height. _Oh, no, dis bombad!_ If the Naboo or the Jedi saw, JarJar would be in big trouble. _Me gotta be putten dis back, den. Okieday, dat not looken too hard._

But no matter how he pushed, the wires still bulged from either side of the panel, sticking out. JarJar glared at the panel, snapping his bill a moment. "Mesa know! Gotta pushen da wires in first, den putten de cova back on!"

Metal dropped by his toes, and JarJar reached for the wires.

_Shh-zzzt!_

"Ouchie!" Sparks flying from a wire with metal peeking from under the protective plastic. _Bombad, bombad!_

But nothing more happened. JarJar eyed the wires carefully; he'd dropped them at the first tiny, burning pain. Fire was not something anyone from Otoh Gunga liked. He was trying to think what to do next when he heard it.

Boots on metal, like the Jedi, or the Captain of the Naboo Queen. _Hurry quick!_

JarJar darted down the next corridor, and the next, and the next. Long minutes later, deep in the ship, the Gungan came to a panting halt against silvery metal. "Whosa! Dat be close!"

It was when he looked at the narrow corridor that he realized he had no idea where he was. A minute's wandering found him poking his head through an open airlock with an oilcan just outside the door. "Heydey ho!"

"Oh!"

_Bleep!_

The Gungan jumped. "Me sorry," JarJar slid through the airlock, sheepishly avoiding the Naboo handmaiden's eyes. He knew the little blue droid she was cleaning; the Naboo had taken it away. "Me not mean to scare yous. Okieday?"

The girl smiled under dark hair. "That's all right. Come over here."

JarJar came forward a few steps. _Dat driod be banged up good. Worken, dough._ "Me find oilcan back dere. Yous need it?"

The girl nodded. "It would help. This little guy is quite a mess."

Scrambling back, JarJar stretched a hand through the airlock door. _Where dat go? Ooh!_ Fingers tight around his prize, JarJar brought the oilcan he had remembered to the girl. "Dis helps?"

"Thank you." The oilcan transferred from Gungan to Naboo. Pouring some oil on the cloth, the girl started rubbing the R2 unit's dome.

_Me like dis Naboo girl. _"Me JarJar Binks."

"I'm Padmé. I attend her highness, Queen Amidala. This is Artoo-Detoo." One eyestalk turned toward the droid; JarJar kept the other on the girl. "You're a Gungan, aren't you?"

Long ears flapped against his neck as JarJar nodded.

Puzzlement and curiosity crept into the girl's voice. The rag rubbing at scorch marks on the white dome slowed. "How did you end up here with us?"

JarJar thought about it a minute. "Me not know exactly. Da day start okieday wit da sunup. Me munchen clams. Den, boom!" A shiver flapped his ears a little, making both eyestalks twitch. "Maccaneks every which way, dey flyen, dey scooten . . . Me get very scared. Den Jedi runnen, and me grab Quiggon, den maccaneks rollen over, den go down under da lake to Otoh Gunga ta Boss Nass . . ."

He didn't know where to go from there. _En da Core, and da fishen. . . _He didn't really remember that. Padmé nodded, encouraging.

_Beep!_

JarJar shrugged. "Tis 'bout it. Before me know what, pow! Me here!" Weight slipped back onto his haunches. "Get very, very scared." The Gungan looked at the droid, then the Naboo girl. Padmé smiled some more.

_Me feelen good._

* * *

"We're lost." They must be. Too much time had passed.

_Seventy-six hours. A day more than necessary._

And there was as yet no sign of stopping.

Olié's fingers drummed against the nav computer's console, beating out a rhythm of twisting anxiety. "We were due to drop out of hyperspace an hour ago. The power surge doesn't show any sign of dying out."

_Dammit. _"I must inform Her Majesty. Do you have any projection for possible rundown of power?" Panaka could hear the grimness in his own voice. What he was really asking was, _'Do you have any idea when – where – we'll stop?'_

The pilot's gaze was frustrated; in it, Panaka read his answer. _It was too much to hope for._ "All I can tell you is that we've been bounced beyond the Outer Rim. The navcomp is plotting our course and feeding it into the hyperdrive continuously – it's a miracle we haven't blasted through a star or planet yet."

Olié's word was good; for all he was only a pilot, the man had had the best education and flight school available on Naboo. Which was why he was pilot of the Queen's shuttle. More importantly, he knew when to keep quiet and when to speak out.

_Her Majesty will not be pleased._

Panic thrummed at him, lodged deep in the back of his mind; Panaka stiffened cringing vertebrae. _Not only the threat to her Highness, but what about Naboo? My planet, my people – how can we help them, lost as we are?_

They couldn't.

The Trade Federation had won.

_Our people are dying, and we are lost to them. How will I tell the Queen?_

* * *

She could read the raw despair in Panaka's face, though he tried to hide it behind impassive duty. Kept her back straight under the weight of the ceremonial gown pulling her shoulders and headdress pressing her spine down into the thronelike chair. "The pilot is certain?"

"Quite certain, your Highness. He has no way to measure how far we'll end up from the Outer until we come out of hyperspace."

"Very well. See that we are notified immediately on dropping out of hyperspace."

"Yes, your Highness."

She might not be the Queen, but Panaka didn't know that. _I can't leave him feeling like he failed._ "Captain."

Brown eyes in a stern visage – but Sabé had learned to read political masks much tougher than his. "No one could have predicted this turn of events. We shall not be defeated by it. Our people will receive the aid they need." _Somehow._

"Your Highness." A stiff bow later, the doors whisked closed.

_Stars, our people . . . Can't think of that now._ She couldn't. Stuck in hyperspace and unable to do anything . . . if she let herself think on it, she'd go crazy. Sabé grunted a little, shifting under the heavy headdress.

_I don't know how Padmé does it._

Though to be fair, they all shared the load. Queen Amidala was a role more daunting than any one person. It was all of them – Eirtaé, Rabé, Yané, Saché. Padmé most of all. _And me._

Sabé got to play Queen now, though, which meant dealing with the headdress all day. _And we all share the responsibility._ Not that the public would know that. But Queen or not, Padme was only fourteen, and you could only pack so much political experience into the three years she had spent as an Apprentice Legislator.

_Not that sixteen is so much more knowledgeable._ But together, all the handmaidens had over a decade's worth of experience in many varied areas, which meant that the ideas they bounced among themselves were refined and calculated even before the 'real' advisors were informed.

A breath in her ear, jerking her from reverie and the struggle not to slouch. _I wish Yané and Saché were here too_. With the six of them, no problem was unsolvable. _Stars, what's happening to them -_ "Sabé. The Jedi are here."

_Here we go again._

Letting Eirtaé adjust the headdress, she waved at the entrance. Rabé grinned and moved to key the doors open.

_And three, two, one._

Royal demeanor smoothing her expression, Sabé straightened her back once more.

_Swish._

"Your Highness."

_Let's do this._

_

* * *

_

:There is no emotion, there is peace.

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. _

_There is no passion, there is serenity. _

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

_There is no death, there is the Force.: _

And it was everywhere.

_In hyperspace for days –_

Leave it behind. There was nothing but the Force.

And in the Force was _everything._

A sense just as real to him as vision and touch and scent, having facets of all of these and more. Pouring blazing warmth into every pore, the Force swirled about him. It was here, surrounded by the dearth of space, where it was easiest for him to feel the faint flickers of the Living Force in the beings sharing the ship with him. It was when surrounded by the choices and conflicting paths of many life-forms that the Unifying Force gave him strength.

Obi-Wan left his body further behind in a rhythmic cadence of measured breaths, sinking deeper into meditation. Let the shields come down, let the Force flow through him unimpeded.

And on rippling currents it carried away guilt over the suggestion of Tatooine which had thrown them beyond the Outer Rim; worries about the Naboo and Trade Federation; anxieties and the tense beginnings of anger; until all that remained was soothing assurance.

_Warmth,_ embracing the core of him, gentling rays lacing _light_ and _life_ through his soul. _Home._

_Be well. Know that this is the path you are on, for good or ill. You follow the will of the Force._

Shifting, in the beautiful light sparkling around him; translucent waves of _color-warmth-chimes_ sweeping and rolling. Coming closer.

_What is it?_

When he realized what he was feeling, Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. Let blue-green eyes drift half-open, and opened himself completely to the Force. It wasn't a sudden surge, a wave hitting him with the force of tsunami, like other visions had been. It was the inexorable flow of a stream in spring, thawing from frozen trickle to pounding torrent.

It was faint, but gaining power.

_They were going to make the jump to hyperspace –_

_Faces. Humanoid, all – one with upswept ears – staring forward. _

Blurs smeared before his mind's eye, overlying one another almost before he could understand them. Here and there he caught a flash of something, someone, he recognized in the blur of faces and things he didn't; Amidala, Qui-Gon, the Senate, the Temple – and a shuddering dark chill ripped flash-fire over his bones.

One shaky gasp threw him into the abrupt realization of flesh closing in about him. Roughly regaining a sense of body, of _self_, Obi-Wan stared at the blank durasteel panel in front of his nose. _Where_ and _when_ were present in his mind as though they had never left.

And just as abruptly, he realized that he couldn't feel the faint shipwide vibration that indicated the Naboo cruiser was still in hyperspace. An extension of the Force was enough to confirm it.

A moment of rushing blood and stretching compressed muscles before his feet would take him without complaint. He needed to find his Master.

_

* * *

_

Finally.

Leaning and twisting to stretch out a spine that felt permanently kinked from two days in the pilot's seat – _in hyperspace –_ he hit a button. Yanking up the navcomp's display, Ric Olié started scanning the stars in every direction. _No, no and no._

No star systems recognized.

_Worth a shot. _

The ship could backtrack their route from this point, but as of now they were in uncharted space. Deciding Corellian best fit their situation, Ric started swearing.

_I don't believe this. I am never going to get paid. And even if I do, there's nowhere to spend it!_

Letting the curses flow in a cathartic stream, he stopped paying attention to what his mouth was saying and turned to the computers instead. _Sublight engines, check._ They weren't completely dead in the water. _Main engines, yes. Life support – thank the galaxies, we won't asphyxiate._ Or freeze to death. Though they just might starve, if they were out here long enough.

_Hyperdrive –_

He switched to Wookie, the only language really _made_ to roar out frustration, on reading the display. _Fried. Completely. Stars, it'll take us _centuries_ to get back to our space traveling at sublight! _

"Is something wrong?"

"Space!" Heart running a marathon, Ric turned to see the Jedi Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, at the entrance to the cockpit. Sucked in a deep breath, trying to summon the cool that he felt with controls alive, rather than blinking in distress, under his hands – and failing miserably. "That depends."

"On?"

Making his report, Olié eyed the older man carefully, and didn't see so much as the flicker of an eyelid. _I don't think I want to see him lose control._ Someone who could be as calm as Jinn had been with blaster fire raining down on them. . . . no, he didn't want to be anywhere near the disaster that would shake the Jedi's calm. "I can make some repairs from inside," Ric summed up. "But we only have one astromech droid, and cruisers usually receive maintenance on the ground or in starship bays. We don't have any suits, not that we could get outside if we did."

The airlock that let the droids outside was tiny for a reason. All ships had to worry not only about stowaways, but contraband – and when the pilot never even knew it had been brought on board . . .

"How many of the repairs can you perform inside the ship?"

Ric reached under the main control panel, wriggling fingers between steel plates. He tossed off a brief prayer and yanked. Biting dots of fire sparked out at him, but, luckily, he didn't electrocute himself. _Which means the short is outside . . . _"Most," he answered the Jedi. "But a lot of the work that needs to be done is on the hyperdrive, and only the astromechs can reach it. We can send the one droid we have out there. . ." _Not that it'll do much good._

Footsteps. "We're totally alone out here, then?"

Face buried in a mass of wires, Ric didn't look up to answer the younger Jedi. "Yep."

"Then what's that?"

_Ow!_ Ric hissed a curse, pulling his head up carefully a second time. And spared a moment to push his jaw back into place. "Let's get a closer look."

Kenobi took the copilot's seat, and Ric engaged the sublights. A gentle pull on the controls sent them skimming over to the . . . thing. _Cylindrical, blinking lights –_

Jinn's own steps were quiet; Ric felt the weight of his hand on the back of the pilot's seat as if warm flesh rested on his shoulder. "It looks like a buoy."

_It looks like a jury-rigged thermal detonator, is what it looks like._ But those kinds of space-mines were long past. No one used them anymore. _Except pirates._

But they were so far off normal space-routes that putting an explosive here to knock unwary ships out of hyperspace would just be a waste. _Not pirates. But what -_

"Receiving signal."

Ric shot a hard glare at the Jedi. "Who would be broadcasting, way out here?"

A moment later, soft beeps of varying lengths filled the cockpit. "It's coming from the object," the younger Jedi offered, blue-green filled with interest.

"It's a code." The authority loaded into Jinn's voice was heavy.

Staring at the red-blue-blink through space, Ric didn't know he'd voiced his first thought until he heard it. "But for what?"

"Padawan. Can you decode it?"

Ric blinked. _Are you laser-brained?_ No one could just listen to a bunch of beeps and then –

Staring at the Jedi's eyes, a shiver raised the hair on the back of Ric's neck. There was an expression on his face that said _no-one-home_, like the look on his father's during the last days of Junta Olié's life.

Then something _twitched_, and the Jedi was shaking his head. "I'll need some time, Master. It's a cipher, I believe, but I can't be sure."

_Oh, you're kidding me._ Well, if he hadn't known from the Master's inhuman calm, this brought the point home. _Jedi really aren't like normal people._

"Very well. I'll inform Panaka and her Highness of our situation." But the older man didn't move. _What's he waiting for?_

Coruscanti accent, alien to him from a life on Naboo and in the space around it. "It seems, Master, that we have two options. We could try to backtrack to known space using our sublight engines."

_Pointless,_ Ric wanted to point out. _Yeah, the ship might make it back. Might. With our great-grandkids. _He bit his tongue instead.

"Or we could try to hijack this buoy. Whoever put it here did so for a reason, and it's sending out a signal. If we could use that to our advantage, we might be able to affect a rescue for ourselves."

"Kick up enough fuss, and they'll come looking," Ric muttered, bending back under the sagging panel disgorging wires onto the durasteel by his feet. He kept one ear keen for the words passing between the Jedi, and decided he'd rather have a fixed ship than a part in the conversation.

"It would seem the latter is the better option."

There was a puzzling silence where the next words should have been; Olié didn't realize the Master was still present until the next sound - footsteps, fading this time.

_Bypass here, route this wire into the main circuit, test the current –_ he needed to leave for tools and come back several times, but it was three hours later by Olié's count when the Jedi sat back in his chair.

"I think I've managed to crack it, thank the Force," he sighed. For all they were almost the same age, at that moment, the Jedi seemed older. "I'm testing the signal now, and my message should rouse the curiosity of whoever's listening, if I've done it right."

Cracking knuckles one by one, Ric stared at rhythmically blinking lights just beyond the viewscreen. "You're not sending out a distress signal?"

"Not right away," Kenobi drummed fingers against durasteel in thought. "No need to let whoever's listening know how bad off we are if we can help it. And it's not an emergency yet."

_Let me get this straight. We're so far beyond known space that we haven't a hope of getting back without our computer, likely never to see anyone or anything we know ever again. How _isn't_ this an emergency?!_

Well, on the other hand, the Jedi could be right. At least they weren't losing atmo through a hull breach. Cold settled in his bones at the thought – every spacer's worst nightmare. _Then we really would be dead._

"All we can do now, is wait." Was he imagining frustration in that even tone?

A look at Kenobi's face convinced Ric otherwise. _Great. _

_

* * *

_

So long.

Back in the lower regions of the ship, with the little blue droid that they owed their lives to, was the best place she could think. _Five days._

There was hope, in the signal stolen from the space buoy, but Padawan Kenobi had only tested it so far, and was skeptical about the results.

They'd been adrift beyond the Outer Rim when they should have made it to Coruscant, gone through the preliminary meetings, be addressing the Senate _right now._ The people of Naboo were starving, _dying._

_And they will continue to do so until we can reach the Senate._ Padmé leant back against cool durasteel, ruthlessly honest with herself. _And if the Senate does not listen, my people will continue to die even after we plead our case before them._

After all, there were billions of worlds in the Galactic Republic, represented in the Senate. Billions of worlds that cared little for the deaths on Naboo, and more for the benefits offered by the Trade Federation. She had a battle on her hands, one that she _must_ win.

_But how do I get their attention? How do I force them to listen, persuade them to support me?_ What she didn't have was the ability to make others care.

Then she would just have to find something else. Some hook, some lever. _Something. I _will_ save my people._

At least she wasn't totally alone. Eirtaé, Rabé, and Sabé were with her.

_But we need a plan._

This was a development none of them had expected, that they hadn't even begun to deal with. It was far past time to start.

_When we get to Coruscant, there will be no time for delays._ Nails pressed crescents into the heels of each hand. Durasteel rested, chill and impassive, against the back of her skull.

_Senator Palpatine._ Her first source of information and aid, of course. _But he won't be enough for immediate attention._ Countering the Trade Federation's power required more sheer force of numbers in the vote, and _that_ had always been the crux of the problem.

Rolling her head, Padmé closed brown eyes with a sigh. The point of democracy was to make it possible for everyone to have a say. But when over two thousand representatives convened, agreements were scarce. _Not even taking into account the actions of political sub-committees, factions, and special-interest groups. . ._

Though that was an idea. There were several that opposed the Trade Federation on socio-cultural, economic and environmental grounds. Perhaps –

_Bleep!_

Steel slammed blue-clad shoulders; Padme huffed out a surprised breath. _Ow._ "R2-D2," she read the astromech droid's designation.

A light blinked at her, and the little machine _blatt_ed. The white-and-blue dome spun, emitting a series of beeps and a flashing light or two as the droid wheeled toward the airlock and back again.

"What is it?"

An insistent _bleep!_ was the only answer she got.

"All right, I'm coming." Boots braced against the floor, Padmé pushed to her feet in time to see R2-D2 scoot out into the corridor, whistling triumphantly.

It was waiting for her as she stepped out of the hatch, and the droid chirped and whistled, dome revolving excitedly, as it led her out of the bowels of the cruiser and toward the front of the ship. While in the beginning of the week she'd had a little time to herself, interacting with the Jedi and pilot rather than attending on the queen, she'd needed to put in time waiting on 'Amidala' for the sake of appearances. _At least I had some time to myself to think._

And, slinking through the back of her brain, was the beginnings of the first hint on how she would structure her campaign to present to the Senate.

_Blatt._

R2-D2's wheels locked just outside the cockpit.

"We're here?" Padmé asked it. The little droid beeped; she stepped past the hatch.

_Oh. . . . _"What kind of ship is that?"

They'd been found. _At least, I hope we have. And not by the Trade Federation._ But something as unusual and beautiful as that – besides, there was no Trade Federation logo anywhere on the outer hull, and they never missed an opportunity to advertise their identity. _Even when they come to murder and despoil._

Master Jinn shook his head; Panaka was puzzled. The pilot said very little, but this time it was the younger Jedi who spoke. "We don't know."

* * *

"I've never seen anything like her." Olié cast another lingering glance toward clean white lines. "But if she picked up our signal -"

"We've been broadcasting continuously?" The handmaiden couldn't be older than the Queen herself – fourteen, perhaps younger. But knowing that Amidala was barely a teenager didn't change the fact that royal garb somehow added five to ten years to her demeanor and appearance. Qui-Gon shook his head. _I'd much rather deal with the handmaidens than her Royal Highness._

"No," his Padawan answered. Qui-Gon recognized the line furrowing between ginger brows, could feel the mind behind digging methodically and deliberately through memories of the last five days.

_I wonder._ Reaching a long arm between the two pilot's chairs, he flicked a switch. "Subspace radio?"

"Incoming transmission," Obi-Wan answered, fingers twisting at a dial until sound filled the cockpit.

_Bleep – beep bleep ping! Bleep, ping! Beep ping beep bleep!_

Speakers fuzzed with momentary static before the pattern repeated itself once more.

"It's a sequence," Olié frowned, listening. "The same thing, over and over."

_. . . – beep . . . ping! . . . ping! Beep ping beep . . . !_

An idea sparked in his padawan's brain; Qui-Gon sent agreement through the bond, and Obi-Wan's hands sped over the panel.

"What are you doing?"

"Filling in the blanks," Obi-wan glanced up at the white vision hovering some distance away. "That design is unfamiliar to the Republic. What's to say they speak Basic?"

Olié's green eyes were clouded. Tension lined the wiry body, seeping into every word. "You're sure there's life over there?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon _reached_ through the Force, testing the flares of sentient life against chill blankness of space. "A few hundred life-forms, in fact." The ship nearly glowed with it.

Slender fingers closed on the sleeve of his robe; the young handmaiden's face was painful with hope. "Listen!"

Crackling resolved into words, the masculine voice calm. "Repeat: this is the United Earth Ship _Enterprise._ We convey greetings and await your reply."

_Unusual._ But a far cry from the hostile response he had half-expected for their interference in whatever device had put out the signal they'd needed.

Brown eyes wide, the young handmaiden appeared startled. "United Earth? Are there any planets nearby?"

Ginger spikes shook. "This is uncharted space."

"Are we going to answer?" The handmaiden's brown stare was pointedly leveled at the subspace radio.

Obi-Wan reached for the control. "United Earth Ship _Enterprise._ This is Nubian Cruiser, registration code 562R927A -"

_:Go on, Padawan.:_

"- in distress. We accept your greetings and convey our own."

Qui-Gon used the pause to read faint puzzlement in green-blue eyes. _:What is it, Padawan?:_

_:Do you sense it, Master?:_

The Force was alive to him once more, in the bodies filling white lines that had been summoned by their signal. _Wholeness_, he felt; each one distinct and different, yet all pieces joined in purpose to form a functioning lightsaber. _Strength. Will-to-survive_, but it was complex; _sacrifice_ and _duty_ and _love_ rolled together in every being in that ship. And on top of it. . . _curiosity_, gentle, and brilliant as a Daywing.

Qui-Gon felt more than saw the younger Jedi shake his head. _:There's something more, something . . . elusive . . .:_

_:Focus on the moment, Obi-Wan:_

"Naboo cruiser. Our scanners show damage to your vessel, but we are unfamiliar with your technology. What aid do you require?"

"Scanners?" Olié blinked.

Brown hair shook; the handmaiden's lips were a thin line, holding back painful hope.

"United Earth Ship _Enterprise._ We have sustained engine damage through the exterior hull, which we are unable to reach. Are you able to dock with smaller ships?"

_That might solve our problem._

"Cruiser," came the near-immediate reply. "We have shuttle bays large enough to accommodate your vessel. If you will allow us, we will use a tractor beam to tow your ship into the bay. We would also like to scan your ship's atmosphere to determine if it is compatible with our own."

Calloused fingers stilled on the transmission switch. "Master?"

He focused blue eyes on sleek white, still taking in the foreign lines of the massive vessel. _Not a battlecruiser, nowhere near its size. But still, far larger than any transport vessel._ "Our other options, Padawan?"

"Decline aid and spend the rest of our natural lives trying to return to known space." Years of learning to negotiate hadn't yet blunted his apprentice's occasional tactless comment. "There is a risk in accepting their aid."

_We have no other choice._ "Yes, there is."

"And you deem the risk acceptable, Master Jinn?" Padmé's chin tilted, stubbornness tracing her jaw and challenge shining from brown eyes.

"At this juncture we have few options, young handmaiden." _And yet . . . the Force glows so _brightly_ throughout this _Enterprise._ No fear shadows her._ Though that could be because the nine lives aboard the Naboo cruiser were little threat – and they appeared to have technology that would tell them that.

A chill tingled along his senses – the handmaiden's anger was palpable, but only in clenched fists half-buried in overlong blue sleeves. "I will inform Captain Panaka of the situation," was what she said. The Queen's head of security was asleep, or he would have been in here long since.

Huffing, the whirl of blue and brown stalked from the cockpit.

An arm clad in Jedi robes reached for the radio switch, whipping the silence left by the handmaiden's frosty departure into something productive. "United Earth Ship _Enterprise._ That is acceptable. We convey our thanks for your aid."


End file.
